Refrain

by Nathan Ravenwood

  She cupped his manhood, her eyes widening a little. “Oh! Oh.”

  Vann dipped his head down to hers, his lips ghosting along hers, their first touch hesitant, exploratory. Then he tightened his grip on her body and pulled her into a tight embrace, crushing that soft body against his as need overtook his higher instincts. The Matriarch churred as he deepened their kiss, the vibrations thrumming between them. With a rustle, her wings folded around them completely, the texture of her feathers like luxury silk against his arms and face.

  He drew back just enough to speak. “Bed?” he panted.

  The Matriarch's fingers scraped along his arms. “I don't want to waste a moment,” she murmured, moving to take off his tunic. He helped her with the fasteners, stealing another head-spinning kiss as she got his garments halfway off. At some point she'd fished his cock out, her palms cupping and rubbing along the taut, throbbing hardness. Vann decided to be bold and slipped a hand between the Matriarch's legs, finding her cunny damp and wanting. She let out a soft gasp at the touch, grinding her hips into his still inexperienced, yet wondrously eager fingers. “Ah...”

  Vann reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. “Do these arrangements of yours usually last long?”

  “Depends on how desirable the negotiator,” the Matriarch purred, slowly stripping the rest of Vann's clothes off until he was naked within the confines of her wings. Her wings brushed against his bare skin, the soft touches of the feathers raising goosebumps all over his body. “When I was younger, I often invited them to stay the night.”

  “Them?” Vann pressed.

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Why negotiate with one aerie at a time when you can negotiate with three at a time and come to an accord together, if you take my meaning.”

  Vann took a moment to visualize what she was getting at, feeling his knees buckle a little. “How economical.”

  The Matriarch nuzzled his throat, making quick, almost preening-like motions with her face against his neck. “But these days I haven't the stamina for that. This, however.” She stroked his cock. “This will do nicely. Come.”

  She led him across her chambers to the area opposite from the kitchen area and the window. Her bed was a simple mattress resting on the floor, adorned with a thick cover and a pile of pillows. In a motion that was rather fluid for someone of her age, the Matriarch dropped into a sitting position while holding onto his hands, scooting back along the bed and dragging him down with her. Vann quickly asserted himself atop her, and judging by the way the Matriarch practically folded herself against him, was what she wanted. Her legs hooked around his waist, arms tangling with his as they kissed again, and again, the kind of kisses normally reserved for lovers.

  Vann had to pull back after a while to catch his breath. He felt his face burning. Despite her years, the Matriarch still had a passion to her, an eagerness illustrated with every motion of her skin against his and the happy trilling noises she made between her gasps of delight. He feathered kisses down her body, stopping at each breast to bite and tease her nipples. Then he went lower, and lower, her scent growing sharper in his nostrils. She spread her legs for him, and he adjusted himself so the backs of her thighs were on his shoulders, her heels on the middle of his back. Musky feminine scent wafted up to him like the aroma of spiced meat. Vann looked up her body and locked eyes with the Matriarch. The expression in those golden orbs said all he needed to hear.

  He dipped his head and kissed her in the most intimate of ways, earning a soft croon for his efforts. Those curvy hips arched up into his mouth, and he parted his lips to taste her, grabbing her thighs to hold her in place while he went to work with his tongue. Janaza had given him ample opportunities to practice, and he'd gotten slightly better at eating pussy from her many teaching sessions. He put every lesson to work on the Matriarch, dipping his tongue deep into her heat and reveling in her taste, nipping at her swollen labia with his teeth, and sliding his mouth up to suckle and lick at her clit.

  “Ah!” The Matriarch cooed. “Ah, yes! Yes!”

  Her pussy walls fluttered around his tongue, and Vann doubled his efforts, until the Matriarch was a twitching, shuddering mess above him. She gushed against his tongue, tasting sweeter than honey, and Vann couldn't get enough.

  At least until she pushed him away, gently but firmly. “Please...” she said. “Please, a moment.”

  Vann sat back on his knees, catching his breath and wiping her passions off his lips. “Sorry!”

  “Do not apologize,” the Matriarch said, pressing a palm to her forehead. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, each exhale making her breasts jiggle just the slightest bit. Vann was achingly hard, his cock standing at attention and leaking precum from the tip.

  When the Matriarch had recovered, she adjusted her posture. She shifted onto her side, her legs parallel to one another as she lounged on a pile of her pillows, wings spread wide for support. “This works best for me nowadays,” she said. “My back isn't what it used to be.”

  Vann crawled over to her, not going right for her sex, tempting as it was. He cupped the Matriarch's chin and kissed her again, a less ferocious kiss then before but no less passionate. The harpy churred happily, reaching down to slowly stroke his cock while their tongues danced. When he broke the kiss, the Matriarch nuzzled his neck again. “It's refreshing to lie with a male who actually seems to care,” she murmured.

  “I have a good teacher,” Vann said as he moved back down her body and got into position. “And she'll give me hell if I treated you as anything less than a goddess.” He winked at her.

  The Matriarch actually giggled. “You flatter me.”

  She lifted her leg up, and Vann set it on his shoulder, letting his cock rest on her mons as he rocked his hips back and forth gently. The downy feathers along her body felt exquisite, and Vann knew he could simply rock his hips like this and he'd shoot his load over the Matriarch's belly in no time. But that wouldn't satisfy her in the slightest, nor would it slake the primal hunger in his loins. So the next time he pulled back, he made sure that on the forward thrust of his hips the head of his cock spread her cunny wide as he plunged into her slowly and carefully.

  The Matriarch made that crooning noise again that was rapidly becoming one of his favorite things to hear, her head lolling back on the pillows. “Oh, Vann...”

  Vann slowly rolled his hips into her, keeping his thrusts slow but deep and deliberate. He didn't want a frantic, wild coupling that might be uncomfortable for his partner. There was something to be said for this, the slow, gentle, passionate lovemaking existing apart from wild bestial rutting. His hands kept her legs where they were with gentle strength as he enjoyed the visual of his cock plunging into the Matriarch's pussy. “You know,” he murmured, “I know Matriarch isn't your name, and it feels like such a wrong thing to moan.”

  She churred softly in a mixture of amusement and bliss. “My name is Kylesa,” she murmured, reaching up to squeeze and play with one of her breasts. “But you may only call me that here.”

  Vann nodded, not breaking his rhythm. “Kylesa,” he moaned, and she made a blissful noise in return. It felt like such a good thing to moan, to breathe into the downy feathers of her leg against his torso as his body was suffused by the heat radiating from where his cock spread her wide.

  “Just like that, Vann,” she crooned, bracing herself against the bed. “Oh, by the winds, yes...”

  Vann's orgasm built slowly as he sped up his rhythm only slightly, keeping his thrusts into Kylesa's cunny deep and slow. The harpy was already gone, mouth open in a soundless cry of joy as her climax crested upon her again and again. Vann joined her soon after, settling his weight against her body as much as he dared and letting himself go. He saw stars as his cock trembled and spasmed inside her heat, thick ropes of his passion bursting inside her and flooding her completely.

  Then he leaned too far to the side and lost his balance, flopping ungainly onto his side with an undigni
fied yelp.

  The Matriarch burst out laughing. “Oh dear! Are you okay?”

  “Yep,” Vann said, picking himself up. “Only thing that's wounded is my pride.”

  She crooked a finger to him, and when he drew close, she kissed him again. “Well, you'll have ample time to make up for it the rest of tonight,” she churred. Vann kissed her back, his mind giddy at the thought of an evening making gentle love to the older harpy.

  Janaza would want to hear every salacious detail, of course. But as he thought of her, Vann thought of Rorzan again, and how he'd put him up to this without asking. A pang of irritation went through him, though it didn't rankle him for long. This was hardly an unpleasant task, and as the Matriarch pressed her body into his again, stroking him back to readiness with her gentle fingers, the feeling evaporated.

  ***

  The Seraph tracked east over the land, and within a day had traveled almost to the coastline, the same journey that had taken Vann and company over a week by land. Aboard the flying craft, Yilon had spent his time watching the northern crew man the vessel, asking a litany of questions of them about the mechanics of how the ship flew.

  In turn, Eckert was watching Yilon.

  The Avatarian sat on a railing on the upper deck overlooking the main command center. Yilon was on the lower deck, sitting next to a northern sailor who was explaining the finer points of navigation using the 360 degree compass on the bridge.

  A heavy tread of boot on the deck behind him, slightly off owing to the limp in the leg the boot was on the end of, informed Eckert that Lord MacAngus was approaching to ask him something. His fingers rubbed the polished diamond topper on his cane.

  “Eckert,” MacAngus greeted him.

  “Bosie,” Eckert said in return.

  His master nodded down to the younger Lord-to-be below. “How's our guest faring?”

  Eckert rested his chin on the end of his cane. “It's quite remarkable, really. Just from listening to him talk, you'd never know who his father was. There's very little arrogance in Master Yilon. No sense that he thinks he knows everything.”

  MacAngus watched his soldier answer one of Yilon's question, the man's words lost over the mechanical sounds of the bridge. “Ours aren't divulging all our secrets now, are they?”

  “Heavens no.” Eckert treated MacAngus to a smile of pearly white teeth. “They know better than that.”

  The two old confidants lapsed into silence as they watched Yilon. What Eckert had kept to himself was that despite the Lord-to-be's lack of arrogance, he had gotten the impression of a certain youthful innocence from Yilon. It was a curious thing, for a royal of his age.

  Eckert reached into his pocket, feeling the scrap of fabric that he'd helped himself to during his walkthrough of the Papreon palace while Branna had been meeting with MacAngus. It had been easy enough to determine where their runaway had slept, and all he needed was a snipping from his bedspread. He whistled under his breath softly, and felt the fabric grow warm under his fingers.

  MacAngus heard the soft noise, inclining his head. “Are you close enough?”

  “Getting there, old friend.” Eckert tapped his cane on the railing. “I'll be putting my face on soon enough.”

  The Avatarian wondered what Yilon would do when he beat Vann within an inch of his life.

  ***

  Lord Fandar Branna took his evening tea by the window and looked out over Pa[repn.

  The damage done by Vann in his escape had already been fixed. Stone, brick, and mortar were easy fixes. Branna's pride, and the ease of his city, were not.

  His network of informants in the streets told him that the commotion almost a month ago was still the talk of the town. Vann had made his escape down the busiest street in the city. A great many people had seen him carrying that infernal instrument atop his stolen horse. Of course, the first question that came to many a mind that had seen it was where had he gotten it? And for those that maybe knew more than the average commoner, how had he gotten one of the Bonecarver guitars? They were all supposed to have been destroyed.

  And they had been, save for a few that were rumored to be in the possession of the heathen races that called the Eastern Continent home. But those were too far away to be of any real threat, and the one under the library, Rorzan's guitar, had been a carefully guarded secret. But now the secret was out.

  Branna swirled the thick, hot liquid around in his cup before taking a careful sip. A little milk, a little honey. Nothing else.

  Some had already demanded answers of him. Not the commoners, no, but some of the higher ranking members of the merchant's guild had been pressing him about it in letters. It was a tricky thing. He couldn't just have such men and women vanished away to the south to labor away amongst the Voiceless slave gangs down there. People would take notice. But their incessant line of questioning was certain to give way to another eventually: why the silence?

  Branna turned away from the window. On the desk in his study was a flat, violet crystal, pulsing faintly in a 4/4 time signature. He picked it up, and hummed a soft cadance under his breath in time with the pulsing of the crystal.

  After a moment, a voice emanated from the purple rock. “My Liege. Is it time?”

  “Not yet, Captain,” Branna said. “I merely wished to check in to make sure your forces remained at the ready.”

  “They are, my Lord. Whenever they locate the fugitive, they will Sing for us, and we will go to wherever they may be.”

  “Good, good. As you were.” Branna tossed the crystal back onto the mahogany of his desk.

  It wasn't that he didn't trust Lord MacAngus. Well, a bit of it was. But the existence of Branna's backup plan was born out of a fervent desire for one thing: payback. Payback against the Voiceless who had played him completely for a fool and had humiliated him by making off with the dangerous weapon that it had been his family's responsibility to safeguard.

  When Lord MacAngus's airship had lifted off days prior, it had taken off with two of Branna's personal guard stowed away in the hold. Each of them possessed a page of crystallized mana that had been infused with portal spells by Branna himself. When they found Vann, they would break one crystal to create a portal which fivescore of Branna's finest would pour through. As powerful as that guitar was, there was no way one man, one just out of boyhood, could stand against that many. His guards would cut Vann and whatever heathen allies he had gathered down, retrieve

  Rorzan's guitar, and break the second crystal to create a portal to get them back home. From there, he'd taken the instrument and put it back where it belonged in the chamber underneath the library.

  And he'd seal it tight with cement to be sure.

  Chapter Six – Up The River

  From atop the aerie, the craft approaching the base of the rocky spire seemed incredibly small, it's crew vague, indistinct spots of color that moved with a strange, wide gait. It was when Rorzan told him they were centaurs that it started to make sense to Vann.

  “But why centaurs?” he asked.

  “We're headed through their territory next,” the ghost explained. “If we're going to get to the satyrs, we need to cross through their lands, plus it wouldn't hurt to have a talk with whoever's in charge.”

  “And why the satyrs?” Janaza asked. The early morning wind blew her ebony hair back over her shoulder, making it snap and billow like a flag.

  “In my experience, many different kinds of people can be taught guitar and bass,” Rorzan asked. “But no race of creatures plays the drums better than the satyrs.” He gestured to below his waist. “They got legs for days. And legs for days, if you know what I mean.”

  “This is just going to be a constant thing, isn't it?” Ori sighed.

  “You get used to it after a while,” Arielle said.

  Vann looked down the line of them standing near the edge of the aerie: an orc, an elf, a harpy and a ghost. Had such a menagerie been assembled at all in the past few hundred years? It felt like the beginnings of a bad joke.r />
  The Matriarch spoke up from behind them. “We can proceed to the base of the spire whenever you're ready.”

  “No more rock climbing, please,” Vann grumbled, turning to face the older harpy. She wore another loose garment that flowed about her curves, the fabric undulating in the breeze. He'd explored every inch of her the night before, and just looking at her brought a warm tingle to his body.

  The Matriarch seemed to feel the same, answering his look with an equally warm one of her own. “I wouldn't dream of it,” she said, inclining her head towards the carved rock staircase that led down into the rock spire. “Allow me to show you the proper way down.”

  Vann looked at Ori. “You ready for this?”

  She gave him an arch look, eyes alight with determination. “What do you think?”

  He recoiled a little at her fire. “Erm, okay then. We're ready, Kylesa.”

  They followed the Matriarch in a single-file line down the staircase through the aerie. The harpies were beginning to wake, going about their days, and many watched with curiosity as their strange multi-racial parade went past. Most of the eyes were on Ori and the elegant blue guitar hanging from her back. A murmur ran through the crowd, and a male voice said something in the harpy tongue a little louder than the rest. Ori's head snapped towards the speaker, and if looks could kill, the force of her glare would've bored a hole in the wall.

  “Translation?” he muttered to Rorzan.

  “Nothing nice,” the ghost answered curtly. “I think our new friend won't be missing her people here too much.”

  It took them ten minutes to walk down the spiraling staircase to the lower levels of the aerie. The Matriarch took a turn onto a level passageway that went towards the outer wall of the honeycombed spire. At the end of the passage were a pair of male harpies dressed in leather armor and carrying lances, standing in front of a pair of wrought-iron doors bolted to the rock. They stood to attention as the Matriarch came near them. She gave them a command in harpy, and as one they turned, grasped the doors and pulled.